


In Sickness and in Health

by Batsutousai



Category: British Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, Written in RP World, based on an rp, loki in disguise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-30 04:00:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1013846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batsutousai/pseuds/Batsutousai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on an RP: Jealous of the surrogate mother keeping house with his husband while he's away, Logan (Loki) returns to England to reclaim what is his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Sickness and in Health

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lokesenna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokesenna/gifts), [Alate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alate/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Someone To Say ‘I Love You’](https://archiveofourown.org/works/707721) by [Lokesenna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokesenna/pseuds/Lokesenna). 



> **Disclaim Her:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Marvel. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The character of Thomas "Tom" Hiddleston is based on a real person, and no offence is intended; this is only for the amusement of myself and other like-minded (read: mentally ill) fans.
> 
> **A/N:** This is based on @PrincelySecrets and @PrancerLoon's twitter RP. They made mention of fanfiction written about their characters, in character, and I....couldn't resist. XD
> 
> **What you need to know:** In this world, Tom and Loki are married and living on Earth. Loki is known to the general public as Logan Greene (now Logan Hiddleston), originally from Iceland. Shortly after the marriage, Loki got pregnant on accident, one thing led to another and now, so far as normal people are concerned, 'Logan' is back in Iceland for work while their surrogate, a woman named Ísis Thrace, resides with Tom in London.
> 
> This fic is written as if I was an average fan in their world. That means I have no idea that Logan is Loki, or that Ísis is really Loki trapped in female form.  
> I really, _really_ wanted to make this a threesome with Tom stuck between Logan and Ísis, but Logan was refusing to cooperate. Maybe I'll try again another time.

Logan had been willing to go the surrogate route, since Tom had been so invested in having children, and he honestly hadn't minded Ísis when they'd met. She was lovely, if a bit sassy, which suited Logan just fine. Really. (Sassy was good. Sassy was necessary to keep Tom in line, most days. God, _that man_. Some days, Logan just wanted to take him over his knee and– ) 

Anyway. 

He hadn't minded Ísis, had liked her best out of Tom's final choices. (And, yeah, maybe her accent, so much like his own, had something to do with that. A lot to do with that.) 

But, now? Watching video of _his husband_ hanging on that trollop like _they_ were the married ones– Urgh! It made Logan's blood boil. He'd wanted to fly straight back to London and kick her out, baby be damned. 

In was one of his oldest friends who had talked him down, had insisted that there was probably a reason for the...display. That Logan should give his husband a chance to explain without jumping down his throat. 

"Give it a couple days," Gunnar had insisted. "Ringing him while you're angry isn't going to do anyone any good. And running back with a hot head will be even worse." 

"And if he doesn't answer his mobile?" Logan demanded, because he was incapable of thinking anything but the worst right then. 

Gunnar sighed. "Call his, ah...what do actors call them? Manager?" 

"Agent," Logan huffed before stalking off. He suspected, if Tom was hiding something from him – like the burgeoning relationship sort of something – everyone in England would be on orders to lie to him. If he wanted answers, he'd need to corner Tom. Face-to-face, Tom could never manage to lie to him. (Logan revelled in that fact.) 

-0-

He did wait a couple days, but he didn't bother ringing ahead, just caught a flight back to London first thing. He would rather know Tom was telling the truth the first time, rather than staying up nights, wondering, and letting his duties suffer for it. 

It felt a little wrong to be returning to England without his husband at his side or waiting for him at the baggage claim, but needs must. At least there was less question of security when it was just him. (God, he loved Tom, but travelling with him was such a _hassle_ sometimes.) 

He caught a cab to the house, only to find the place empty of life, far all it was near time for dinner. He frowned as he set something simple up to cook and snooped through the house to see what clues had been left about the state of things. 

Ísis had been set up in the guest room when Logan had left, but much of her things had migrated into Tom and his room. Both sides of the bed had clearly been slept on recently, but the hairs on Logan's pillow were Tom's. "At least you're not letting her sleep on _my_ side," he griped at his absent husband as he stalked back downstairs to check on his pasta. 

Other signs showed two people living comfortably together, from the dishes stacked in the sink, stained with the same meals, to the two laptops set up on the kitchen table. Both were password protected, and Logan felt a stab of unease when the password Tom had been using when he'd left, no longer did. 

Sharing a bed? Meals? Computers side-by-side? 

Logan was going to banish _both_ of them to the couch. (Assuming he didn't just kick Ísis' arse right out the front door, her suitcases following behind. He wasn't sure her being confirmed pregnant would save her, at this point.) 

He ate, then settled in on the couch, mobile the only light in the room as the sun vanished outside. When a key sounded in the lock, male and female voices laughing together beyond the barrier, it was almost nine. Logan barred his teeth – Tom had _never_ stayed out so late for him, save their honeymoon, citing work and going for a run as the reason he needed to be in bed by nine – and turned off the screen of his mobile as the door pushed open. 

Ísis saw him first, letting out a little shriek and grabbing for Tom. Tom immediately got in front of her, one hand reaching for the light switch. 

"Good evening, _husband_ ," Logan purred before Tom could blind them all. 

Tom let out a shuddery breath. "L-Logan? Darling, is that you?" 

Logan flicked on the small lamp next to him, smiling a little cruelly when Tom and Ísis both covered their eyes, blinking rapidly. "Oh, I'm _darling_ now, am I?" he wondered, pushing up from the couch so he could be on more equal footing with his husband. (And tower over Ísis. That was especially important.) 

Tom cleared his throat and he offered a smile that was a little too shaky around the edges. "You scared me, peach. You scared both of u–"

" _Good_ ," Logan snarled, unable to help himself. Needing to see their reactions. 

Ísis, tellingly, looked away in shame. 

Tom, though, just looked hurt. He swallowed, throat bobbing, and said, "You didn't let me know you were coming back to London. I could have come out to meet you." 

"And given you time to hide everything?" Logan demanded. 

"Well, yes, it would have been nice to know that I needed to leave your Christmas present at the office," he said with false humour. When it fell flat, he frowned and asked, "Logan, peach, what's wrong?" 

"She's _sleeping in our bed_!" Logan shouted, pointing at where Ísis was still staring at her feet. 

Ísis flinched at the words and huddled closer to Tom for a moment before figuring out that was the wrong move. "I'll just–" Her voice squeaked and she paused to clear her throat. "I'll go...move my things..." 

"Feel free to move them out _entirely_ ," Logan muttered. 

Tom's mouth twisted in that way that meant he was fighting anger. "Ísis, wait," he requested, voice tight. He took a breath as she paused uncertainly on her way to the stairs, the he turned to Logan. "Where is this coming from? When we discussed a surrogate pregnancy, you didn't seem to care, even when I said she'd be staying here while you're gone. I thought you were good with this." 

"I don't mind you sleeping with her to get her pregnant, or her sharing your food. I care that you're treating her like your– your–!" God, he couldn't even say it. 

But Tom, bless him, was always far too good at understanding what Logan didn't say. "My husband is in another country. Did you expect me to become a shut-in?" 

"No." 

"Did you expect me to leave Ísis here, alone, while I went out to premieres and dinners?" 

Logan swallowed, feeling as though he was being chastised. "No. But–!"

"Do you think so lowly of me that you would believe me capable of taking someone out and leaving them to feel miserable, or that I would have sex with them and then immediately kick them out of bed?" 

Oh, yes, definitely chastised. Logan shook his head, half afraid his shame would be obvious in his voice. (As though his slump wasn't telling. God.) 

Tom sighed and came around the couch to cup Logan's face between his hands. "I'm glad you're home. I've missed you." 

"I've missed you, too," Logan replied, voice quiet to hide how painfully true that was. 

Tom leaned forward to kiss him, but Logan turned his head. The actor let out a sigh, tinged with irritation, and rested his forehead against Logan's. "What is it now?" 

"She's sleeping in _our bed_ ," Logan complained, because that was a valid complaint, he was sure. "It's been a _month_."

Tom grimaced. "We just haven't got a positive–"

"I have," Ísis interrupted, her tone daring Logan to say something. When Tom turned to her, disbelieving, she shrugged and smiled. "I may have lied a few times." 

Logan was torn between fury – she was lying to sleep with _his husband_ – and amusement – Tom sometimes needed to be reminded not to trust so blindly. 

"How many is a few?" Tom asked, resignation in his voice. 

Ísis didn't even have to think about it. "Nineteen days." 

The look on Tom's face tipped the scales in amusement's favour, and Logan burst out laughing. Ísis shot him a smirk, a silent offer to enjoy the prank with her. And Logan was still irritated, but seeing his husband played did easy the upset, some. So he kissed Tom's cheek and wondered, "Did you even check _once_?"

Tom put on the most over-exaggerated pout Logan had ever seen his husband wear and insisted, " _Yes_."

Behind Tom, Ísis held up three fingers. 

Logan shook his head. "He's mine tonight," he informed Ísis. 

"Are you saying he's back to being mine once you've left again?" 

"I am _not_."

"When did I turn into the pass-around teddy bear?" Tom wondered, loud enough to cut off Ísis' response. 

"If you were a stuffed bear, we wouldn't be having this discussion," Logan pointed out. 

"He _did_ play a trickster god," Ísis helpfully pointed out. "He could be a magical teddy bear." 

"That dispenses sperm?" 

"Oh my God," Tom moaned, covering his face with his hands. 

"Absolutely. Didn't they have those in your town when you were growing up?" 

"I wouldn't know; I was never interested in _girl's_ toys." 

"This argument is not really happening!" Tom called. 

Logan met Ísis' eyes around his husband and they shared a smirk. Because apparently, teaming up with the surrogate his husband picked, to punish his husband for making him jealous with said surrogate, was a thing that Logan did. 

Tom caught their shared smirk and groaned. "Are we all friends again, now?" 

"As much as some of us have ever been," Logan agreed, still smirking at Ísis. And if his smirk was a little bit more hostile than before Tom had spoken, well–

Ísis narrowed her eyes. "What Logan said." 

Logan could hear his mother now, telling him the only reason he disliked Ísis so strongly, was because they were too much alike. 

Tom cut off Logan's view of Ísis with his own hopeful smile. "Have you eaten? I can make you something, if you'd like, while Ísis moves back to the guest room." 

Ísis let out a loud, pointed sigh, then the third stair up creaked with her weight, as it did for everyone. 

A weight Logan hadn't realised had been weighing him down still, vanished, and he leaned forward to press his mouth to Tom's. "I wouldn't say no to a little something from the kitchen before I have a taste of my husband." 

Tom smiled, his cheeks flushing very faintly. "I think I can manage that," he agreed before threading one hand with Logan's. He used their joined hands to drag Logan after him, keeping the Icelander from going up to check on Ísis, who they could hear moving between the master and guest rooms. 

Tom made him French toast, a night time favourite of Logan's. A reminder to the first night they'd slept together, when Logan had woken to an empty bed just after midnight. He'd hunted Tom down in the kitchen, where he was sipping hot chocolate and fighting with the bread that Logan always stocked up on, then forgot he had until after it had grown mouldy. Without a word, Tom had offered his mug of hot chocolate and the plate of fried, soggy bread. Logan had never had French toast before, then, and he'd been surprised at how much he liked it, especially after he found out what went into it. So he started pestering Tom into making some if they had the ingredients and were up extra late for one reason or another. 

Now, after living together for so long, it was habit for Tom to make French toast if it was after suppertime. 

Tom made enough that Logan didn't even frown at the third plate his husband pulled out for their guest. He tried not to think about Tom making French toast for Ísis while he'd been gone, and was impossibly reassured when they took the plates up and Ísis asked what she was being handed. 

"It's food," Logan interrupted before Tom could explain. "If you don't want it, bin–"

"Put it in the fridge," Tom interrupted, frowning back at Logan. "I'll eat it for breakfast." 

Logan made a face – he thought French toast kept poorly, but Tom had been super conscious about throwing out food after his UNICEF trip – and turned to retire to their room. 

Tom offered Ísis a goodnight, then came in after Logan, pulling the door closed behind him. Which felt...odd, actually. It wasn't the first time they'd closed the door against a guest, and it always felt a little wrong that they had to hide themselves away in their own house. 

Logan shrugged it away and set his plate on the table on his side so he could start stripping the bed. 

"Really?" Tom complained, but went to pull out another set of sheets all the same. 

"I am not fucking you on the same sheets you've been fucking her on," Logan muttered, balling up the fitted sheet and tossing it into a corner, where the flat sheet was already in a heap. "You can _burn_ those." 

"I'm not burning our sheets." 

Logan snorted, but didn't bother continuing the debate as he tossed the pillow shams in the same direction as the sheets. The pillows themselves would have followed, but he knew better than to expect his husband to pull out brand new pillows. Instead, he helped make the bed without complaint, beyond a half-joking attempt to toss Tom's favourite comforter in the same direction as the banished sheets. 

Finally, the bed made, Tom picked up the discarded sheets and walked them down to start a load. Logan took the moment of stillness to bolt down his French toast. Partially because he really was hungry, partially because–

Tom joined him on the bed, stealing a slice of toast and biting into it with a contented hum. 

Logan rolled his eyes and gave no complaint to the thievery, resigned to it. He did make a point of holding the plate away from Tom, so the actor couldn't steal another slice. Tom made pitiful faces, interspersed with 'eheheh's. 

When he was finished, Logan got up to set the plate on the desk in the far corner, where his computer usually sat. Once the plate was safely out of the way, he pulled his shirt over his head and flashed Tom a smile that was hopefully sharp enough to make the actor shudder. 

Tom didn't shudder, but he did swallow and duck his head. "I _did_ miss you," he offered quietly. 

Logan hummed as he stepped forward to help Tom out of his shirt. "Promise me she won't sleep in our bed again." 

Tom grimaced. "But what if–"

" _Tom_."

He sighed and met Logan's unbending stare. "I promise," he agreed, expression open and honest as he could manage. 

Logan stared down at him for a beat. 

"I _promise_ ," Tom insisted, tongue darting out to wet his lips. 

Logan leaned down and chased after that tongue with his own. 

Tom groaned at the wordless peace and threaded one hand through Logan's hair, the other going to his belt. "Missed you," he breathed against Logan's lips when he drew back long enough to catch a breath. 

"I'm going to fuck you _so hard_ ," Logan hissed, his tongue licking the promise against the actor's teeth. "Svo hart," he added, speaking his native tongue just for the shudder that translated through every point of contact between them. 

When Logan moved to suck bruises along Tom's collarbone, the actor gasped, "When do you have to go back?" 

"Tomorrow evening," Logan admitted; he didn't really have permission to leave the set he'd been working on, only a couple days where he wouldn't be missed. 

Tom groaned and tugged a little too hard at Logan's flies, the zip letting out a particularly angry noise. 

Logan pulled away from Tom's grip so he could kick off his trousers and pants. "What do you have planned tomorrow?" 

"Nothing," Tom promised, taking the moment's loss of contact to handle his own trousers. 

"Good answer. What's Ísis got planned?" 

"Something," Tom returned, lips twitching and eyes glinting with the unspoken promise that Ísis would be gone all day tomorrow, whether she'd intended to be or not. 

"Even better answer," Logan decided before rejoining Tom on the bed, herding him a little higher up, so his head was cushioned by the pillows. "What did you do with the lube?" 

"Your drawer." 

Logan collected the desired object, raised an eyebrow to find it slightly more depleted than he remembered, and made a mental note to pester his husband about it in the morning. For the moment, he squirted just enough into one hand, snapped the cap closed, and let the bottle fall to the comforter as he returned his mouth to Tom's collarbone. 

"God fucking _shit_ ," Tom gasped as Logan paid tribute to his neck and collarbone, while his fingers moved with certainty to open Tom up. Logan grinned against the actor's skin, always filled near to overflowing with pride at his ability to make the other drop his veneer of politeness. "Please, please, fucking _please_. Logan, Goddamn." 

"Impatient," Logan teased, licking up Tom's neck to his ear, tongue rasping against the day's growth of stubble. 

"Fucking tell me you _aren't_ ," Tom griped in return. 

Logan chuckled into the actor's ear, making him shudder again. "Oh, I _am_ ," he breathed, pausing to lick around the shell of Tom's ear. "What I wouldn't have given to be able to have you against the worktop while the toast burned in the pan." 

Tom groaned, fingers clawing along Logan's back in a futile attempt to bring him closer. "Why _didn't_ you?" he complained. 

"You made me remove the lube from the kitchen," Logan reminded him. 

Tom gave a breathless laugh at that reminder, which cut off with a long moan as Logan finally slid into him. 

Logan mirrored the noise, because Tom was _tight_ from a month's abstinence, and he hadn't stretched him as much as he probably should have. But, well, he _was_ impatient. 

And he always got a certain glee from watching the faint limp Tom sported after a rough night. 

Still, impatience and making Tom limp aside, Logan stopped once he was as far as he could get, distracting his husband with kisses and wandering hands. And Tom, long familiar with Logan's caution – _over_ -caution, the actor always insisted – let out only a token whine of complaint before losing himself in the exploration of fingers, his own digits soothing over the lines of fire he'd left on Logan's back mere moments before. 

When Logan finally started fucking him, Tom gifted him with a grateful smile and a groan that was far more sexual than it had any right to be, shooting straight to Logan's cock. As though the chance to claim his husband after a month away weren't turn-on enough. 

It was only his knowledge of everything that Tom liked which saw the actor coming first, tensing under him, head thrown back and neck a long, tempting line as he painted their abdomens with his release. Only then, with the vision of pleasure beneath him, did Logan let go of his inhibitions and fuck as hard and fast as he could into Tom's pliant body. 

When he came, he hid his face against Tom's neck, breathing him in and hiding away; a last-ditch punishment for his husband's infractions. 

Tom pressed a kiss into Logan's hair and made no comment beyond a great heave of his chest, which translated into the quietest of sighs. Then, after a beat, a whispered, "Ég elska þig." 

Inexplicably, those words of love, spoken in Logan's own language, was the straw that broke down the last of his defences. Tears sprang to his eyes with such speed, he hardly knew they were there before they were running over, splashing silently against Tom's skin. 

Tom let out a low sound of sorrow and tightened his arms around Logan. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Oh, peach, I'm so, so sorry." 

Like being sick over the toilet, the tears cleaned Logan of all sense of betrayal and loneliness. And, like the sunlight through the clouds, he knew they would be okay.

..


End file.
